


Multifandom Drabbles

by ThatOneDiviner



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Mass Effect Trilogy, Multi-Fandom
Genre: Elves done with Chantry bs, F/M, I swear I'm the one Shepard who didn't punch the reporter, Might as well own those rumors if they're gonna be spread, Minor Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Multi, Shepard is done with Cerberus' bullshit, There are times I wish I could have but this is not one of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-06-14 05:43:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15381948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneDiviner/pseuds/ThatOneDiviner
Summary: Little scenarios I want to see with my characters that the games just won't give me. Will feature at the very least, the Mass Effect trilogy and the Dragon Age series.





	1. A Question of Loyalties

Bet Shepard was at her wit's end. The camera drone floated in front of her face, awaiting an answer to a question so monumentally stupid that she had paused to mull it over and compose herself.

She failed at the second step. She finally sighed. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she asked. Almost immediately the drone shut down, lights dimming and body dropping to the floor. Al-Jilani glared at Shepard.

"Was that necessary?" the reporter asked, picking up her drone and typing in a sequence that reset it, bringing it's lifeless body back from inactivity. It rose from her hand, but mercifully, this time the lights remained off. It wasn't recording.

"I'd ask the same of that question. Who the hell implies one of their own Admirals slept her way into power?" Shepard said. Al-Jilani paused and her eyes widened. "You forgot, didn't you?" Shepard sighed, pinching her nose. "I suppose now's also a good time to remind you I'm from Mindoir. And we all know what happened to quite a few of the colonists there. If you have questions about my loyalty I'd prefer you just be upfront with me rather than being as fucking offensive as this was. And besides that, Vakarian's a good man. He sure as hell doesn't deserve the press disaster that's coming his way after this."

Al-Jilani nodded. "So you don't deny involvement with him?"

Shepard paused. "No." she said, finally deciding on an answer. "Though whatever assistance he could lend was of his own volition. The First Contact War's been over for 30 years. It's time we act like it, especially when we've got a newer, bigger war on our front. The Reapers are more threatening to us than whatever leftover emnity people may still feel. Right now I'd be questioning the people who feel the need to question **me** over a relationship."

"That's reasonable. Now do you think I could get that on camera? Or would you rather end our session?" Al-Jilani asked.

Shepard groaned internally, but she knew ending it on a sour note would not do wonders for her publicity or for the Alliance's morale as a whole. "You may get it on camera."

Al-Jilani grinned, and her drone's lights came to life. "Back to where we left off." the reporter said. "There are some that would question the loyalty of our Alliance's Admirals. Admiral Shepard has agreed to respond to those concerns, and to alleviate our fears about this matter. Back to you, Shepard." Al-Jilani said, making a small but theatrical gesture to pave the way for Shepard's appearance on camera.

Shepard nodded at the camera. "I know there are some of you who have a hard time letting old grudges die. Believe me, I know how hard it is. I was a resident of Mindoir during its raid. We humans don't forget that kind of thing. I wasn't alive for it personally, but I know many of you were around for the First Contact War. I know how hard it must be for you to let go. Many of you lost friends, family members. It always hurts. But that was 30 years ago. It's time for that resentment to die. We have far, far bigger enemies to fight than whatever turian it is you meet on the streets. The Reapers are here, and they do not care if you beg for mercy. They will not stop their weapons for fear of their conscience - they have none! And to that matter, I need all of you to help in our war against them."

"We have garnered the support of the Turian fleet because I like to think our leaders can recognize when it is time to put aside old grudges. I now ask the same of you. Put aside your resentment. There will only be time for it if we win _this_ war. And right now, it's looking like a long shot. But we've made longer ones. Stand up and help your neighbors. I don't give a shit if they're not human. Neither should you. Help them. The only way we win this is if we stand together." Shepard finished.

She paused for a second, then gave a cheeky smile. "And I know there are those who would question why I say this. Who say I've slept my way into power. All I have to say to that is that if I did sleep my way into control of the turian fleet, it's still more than they are doing right now. Plus, who doesn't like a good dicking down every once in a while?" Shepard said, winking at the camera before the lights shut down for the last time.

Al-Jilani stared at Shepard, jaw agape. She closed it quickly when she noticed it, and then gave a short, barking laugh. "You never fail to suprise me."

Shepard nodded. "Thank you for this. I should be going now. Garrus is going to have a lot of mail in the next hour and I'd like to be there to explain myself."


	2. A Worry Born in Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I need to make something for Mira and now's as good a time as any.

Miralla sank to the ground, stretching out her leg in the soft snow, the cold a relieving bite against her still healing wound. Solas paused at what Mira could only guess to be a rather ornate torch. Her suspicions were confirmed when a plume of veilfire appeared from Solas's hand and lit the torch in a brilliant cyan light.

He stepped back, and paused for a moment, taking a second to look at Mira, now laying flat on her back in the snow. Mira could have sworn she saw his lips twitch upwards in a small smile before he spoke.

"A wise woman, worth heeding. Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause... Or fracture it." he said. Mira couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. She agreed in principle - Mother Giselle was indeed right about what was causing the Inquisition so much trouble. In practice? Mira doubted Giselle would see a unifying factor in her. She was no prophet - especially not to the human's Maker. She was no puppet. She was here of her own volition and could leave just as easily as a foot soldier in their ranks. She had stayed out of the goodness of her heart, but that was being tested to its extreme at the moment.

Whether or not Solas had noticed - and he almost certainly had, if Mira was to bet money on it - he refrained from commenting further.

"The orb Corypheus carried, the power he used against you. It is elven. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. I do not yet know how Corypheus survived, nor am I certain how people will react when they learn of the orb's origin." he continued. Mira nodded. She had guessed as much in the brief glimpse she had caught of it in Haven. No Tevinter relics held that style - a style particular and similar to the elven ruins she had explored as a child. It was a valid concern, and Mira could not deny that she had been thinking much the same about her role in the Inquisition before. With the orb's origin revealed, it was even riskier to still stay and help.

"Alright. What is it, and how do you know about it?" she asked. There had to be a starting point somewhere, and if anyone knew where to look for that point, it would be Solas.

"They were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our Pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came to it, the orb **is** elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith." Solas said.

"Even if we defeat Corypheus, eventually they'll find a way to blame elves." Miralla replied. She was half-joking, but the statement itself was no joke. The two elves fell silent for a moment. Miralla sat up, snow still clinging to her hair. She decided against standing up, and was rather dismayed when Solas offered her a hand to help her up.

She took it, none-too-happily having to put weight on her injured leg. "I suspect you are correct." Solas started, having gathered his thoughts enough to reply. "It is unfortunate, but we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies. Faith in you is shaping this moment, but needs room to grow."

Mira shook her head. "I doubt their faith in me will turn out to be what they want." she said.

"Perhaps so. But that is a discussion for another time - you would do well to head back to camp. And maybe in doing so, you can start creating the image of yourself you want them to see." Solas said.

"You just want a second mage that is still able to walk at the end of this journey." Miralla joked. Solas was only a little less than subtle, but Mira had caught it. Truth be told she was not totally against the idea - her leg was already burning despite the snow temporarily numbing the area only moments before. "But alright. I will go if you will accompany me. And thank you for the word of warning."

"It was but a small favor. It was only right." Solas said, letting Miralla drape an arm over his shoulder. Walking back to camp was more than a bit awkward, as Solas was at least half a head taller than Miralla, making it hard to both walk on her good leg and keep her arm over his shoulder, but they eventually made it back to the tent Giselle had prepared for Miralla. She thanked Solas one last time before ducking inside. She tended to her cut before slipping into her bedroll and fell into a well needed deep sleep.


	3. And Man's Nations Tore Themselves Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solavellan drabble set shortly after Inky's return from the eluvians.
> 
> For reference, Evunial is Miralla's younger brother, Vanowen her younger sister.

Miralla opened her eyes. It hurt, everything hurt. Her head was splitting, veins tearing apart at the seams. The sky was too saccharine a pink to match the hell that was her body. Groaning, she gathered herself together enough to push herself up on an elbow and - wait. She looked down to her left, surprised to see an arm still there. Ah. A dream, then. She sighed and finished the job, sitting up in what was far too difficult a job for such a simple task.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against a nearby rock. If she worked hard enough at it, she might be able to convince herself that this was all a result of aging. She was 29 and had been through multiple battles. It would not be unreasonable.

But of course, the mark crept into her head. She had been fought in multiple battles. So had many of her soldiers, of her companions. Quite a few of them were of a similar age, and none showed the same signs she did. The difference was obvious, and the cause of her problems all but screaming at her to acknowledge it. She ignored it as long as she could, refusing to open her eyes. Whatever there was to see would not be something she wanted to see. She couldn't ignore it forever though, no matter how much she wished she could.

She opened her eyes, looking down at her arm cautiously. It stood in stark contrast to the vibrant emerald green grass below it, skin turning black and crumbling, cracking like stone. The sickly neon green of her mark ran through the cracks, pulsing with an insatiable energy. She would never be enough for it. They had all known, but it was easy to turn a blind eye to it. The constant limp was just the natural conclusion to her run-in with Corypheus at Haven. She had landed on her own blade's edge during her escape, after all. She was losing weight too, but was that not the result of travels limiting when and what she could eat? It's not like she was skin and bones yet. She had developed bags under her eyes, dark circles adorning them better than any eyeshadow could. But she had paperwork to finish and reports to read that were matters of dire importance. And battles did not happen according to her sleep schedule.

All of that effort, all of that denial. Nobody around her wanted to admit Miralla was dying, least of all Miralla herself.

And yet, here she was. Somewhere not wholly in either the Fade or the waking world. There were times where Miralla felt her heart slow. Then, the colors around her would come fully into their own, with saturated colors of all sorts weaving across her vision. She heard whispers in her periphery, ones she reached out for. Almost there, but a wall still existed. It itched around her fingers, reminiscent of the lightning magic she had wielded on the field. And then a pull in the other direction, the whispers louder, grounded, the colors dulled. There was yelling, loud, angry. Evunial. Of course he would be angry. More voices, those of reason, chiming in.

"Not yet. She wouldn't want this. Wait."

"I don't know exactly what she's referring to, but he's right Amatus. Take a break. We will still be with her."

"Mother ought to know."

"Aye. But I won't be the one to write her."

Silence then. So was she dying? Miralla wasn't entirely sure, but at this point that outcome would not surprise her. This had been coming for a long time. While she could not honestly say that she wanted to die, she would be hard pressed to admit that it wouldn’t be some form of twisted relief. For years her body had been turning against her. Each closing of a rift slower than the next, harder. They took more and more out of her and had begun summoning stronger demons. Her magic had begun to fray, twisting at her fingertips, requiring her concentration to control. Until she couldn't.

And so she was here. She remembered her arm burning, scorching. Another pulse emitted by the mark, pain wracking her entire body. Alone, alone, alone. What friends and family she might have turned to were locked behind the eluvians, stuck until Solas deigned to let them through. He had stayed, for a few minutes. Even he must have felt some measure of guilt, seeing her laying like she was, Miralla thought bitterly. She was beyond the point of caring about dignity. She had wanted an end.

She had gotten one, in a sense. Her arm was now scattering like ashes in the wind, little sparks of bright, sickly neon green the only remains of the mark. The process wasn't entirely finished, but from what she could tell it would end above her elbow.

An amputation then. Would that even be enough to save her? What would happen if she died? Would Vanowen even agree to go back to the clan and take over as First? What would happen to Evunial, to Cole, to the rest of her companions and friends?

All good questions, all of which died in her throat as she caught sight of a figure in the distance. Of course he would come now.

Miralla lifted her chin, a silent invitation. No blame, no acceptance. An offer of companionship, but nothing more. Solas paused for a second before nodding and slowly making his way to her. When he reached her he simply sat down beside her. They remained that way in silence for what could have been hours or seconds. It was peaceful. A bittersweet reminder of what had been.

"You didn't have to come." Miralla stated.

Solas remained silent for a time before speaking. "If only for the sake of my consciousness." He smiled bitterly. He took a slow, stuttering breath before continuing. "I heard, many months ago, that a friend of mine was afraid of death."

"Yes. And no. The physical ceased to frighten me months ago."

"Then what?"

"Who will care for them once I'm gone?" Miralla asked, giving Solas a pointed look. "You know very well that I cannot place my trust in you in that regard."

Solas did not object. He could not. "Your sister, Vanowen. She is a good woman. I am sure if anything should happen to you she would care just as deeply for your clan as you do. And your parents still live. Clan Lavellan is not yet dead." Solas replied.

"She is 18. Barely come into her markings. I would not wish that upon her." Miralla said.

"No. Neither would I."

Miralla hummed in response. They relapsed into silence again before Miralla tentatively moved closer to Solas, cautiously leaning her head on his shoulder. "How long will you stay?"

"As long as is necessary. Until you wake." Solas replied. He did not move away.

"Or until I die. Whichever one comes first, you know." Miralla said. She felt Solas's sharp intake, but did not comment. More bitterness would just hurt the both of them in the long run.

"And here I thought I was supposed to be the grim and fatalistic one."

"Is it fatalistic or realistic? Only time will tell, I suppose. Until then, I am content to share your company." Miralla said.

This time it was Solas's turn to nod, returning them to the comfortable silence they shared.

“I don’t recall ever going to Arlathan.” Miralla said after a few more minutes.

Solas cocked an eyebrow. “Is this a request for a tour?”

“Would you? I’d like to see it as it was before this is over.”

Solas nodded. “I can. Follow me.” he said, standing up and extending an arm to Miralla. She took it with her remaining arm, letting him pull her up in a maneuver that wound up less-than-graceful on both ends. Miralla stood for a moment, debating what to do before wrapping her arm in Solas’s. For now they could have this moment.

Hopefully it would not be the last one.


End file.
